Caterwallop
by OrnamentofRhyme
Summary: After a knock to the head, Snowy, Tintin, and Captain Haddock wake in a more hostile environment.


Dedicated to the artists of the two artworks that inspired this story. You can find links to the artwork on my profile.

(Kudos to my mom for the title. It was so out there I had to use it.)

* * *

Captain Haddock came to in an open crate, with a tuft of ginger hair tickling his nose, and a dreaming pup kicking at his shin.

The captain hoped he was dreaming of bucking over the woman who knocked them unconscious. Two years of chasing after Tintin, and nothing so unusual as a cluster of drug-infused hard candy had ever graced the back of his skull. Until this adventure, of course. The back of his brain was throbbing up a storm.

Tintin, owner of the ginger tuft, woke just after the captain. He moaned and turned his head over Haddock's chest, which did nothing for his already trembling heartbeat.

"Where are we?" Tintin asked, even before his eyes opened. Not that it made much difference, what with all the dusk around them.

"It seems to be a box," the captain said.

Tintin's head shot up as though surprised to find the captain under him. Haddock wondered what he expected when two and a smidgen people were stuffed into a crate.

But just as quickly, the intrigue was gone and Tintin gazed around.

"Yes, that appears to be the case." Mindful of the other two, Tintin found his footing and hopped from the graying crate. It creaked beneath him. "But why?"

Snowy scurried up when the captain stood.

"'Why?'" the captain repeated.

"Why would they leave us unbound? There's no top on this crate. We've no fetters, no rope, no guards." Tintin spun around, struck by a thought. "Captain! Watch your step. There may be booby traps set up around the room."

The captain looked around. Room, certainly, but it sat so barren that it was as if they climbed from one box to another.

And the way the place was laid out, he thought, with a gap in one wall that led to an even darker hall and staircase, it almost appeared to be-

"A parlor," Tintin murmured. He made a slow 'S' through the room in his search for traps, but seemed to find nothing.

Finally, he came to a stop at the far window. Milky moonbeams poured in, the only light. Following their lead was the wind that had, once upon a time, shattered the glass out of the window frame. The biggest shards lay at Tintin's feet, but the others had skittered away from stronger squalls.

"Great snakes," Tintin whispered harshly, and dashed from the lounge. The Captain and Snowy were fast on his heels.

"Tintin, what is it, lad?"

Tintin shouldered through the front door and they spilled into the snow. It powdered the land as far as the eye could see, though none fell just then. Instead, the wind slapped and snapped and nipped at their faces. It bleached their lungs.

Everywhere the captain looked, the cluster of weather-beaten houses around them appeared all the same; hollow and cracked as skulls. And no one trudged over the tight-packed snow but they.

Tintin strode from house to house, the others trailing after, but came out of each one with the same answer. "Empty."

When all of the houses had been checked Tintin rounded on the horizon, undaunted by the bleakness, and scanned for lights in the distance. There were none.

And that was all there was. Lonely houses left to be reclaimed by nature.

"They've left us to rot in a ghost town, the pusillanimous pirates!" Haddock bellowed, as though the wind might have the grace to deliver the insult for him. It only wailed in return.

"Ghost hamlet," Tintin added. Then, "At least we have an answer; we're free to wander because there's nowhere to go."

He squinted through the night at a shape, spotted between buildings. "Or is there?"

Tintin motioned to switch places with his friend, and pointed. "Look, Captain. Do you see it?"

The captain stared hard.

"...No. It's my eyes, Tintin. They're not what they used to be."

"It's a factory! Captain, if we can get in that factory, we may find something to help us. A radio, or a vehicle." Tintin crunched out of the shade to stand in the moonlight. The bluish glow painted over his cold-flushed face.

He pushed his coat back until he could get a glimpse at his watch. (The clothes they wore for this trip were so thick, such movement was toilsome, and seeing the watch face took frustrating effort.)

"2:23 a.m." he said, then tugged his coat back into place as swift as he was able, lest his blood freeze in his veins. "That leaves approximately five hours until sunrise.

"We'll head to the factory when the sun comes up." He peered up at a tenebrous window. "It's too dark to wander now."

The captain thumped back toward the house with the crate, saying, "Let's get inside, then. All my nubs'll be ice if we stand around much longer." That, and he found something skin-pricking about wandering a ghost town. It was as if they were creeping through the brittle carcass of a long-dead colossus.

"Right," said Tintin, following. "Come on, Snowy." The dog barked and loped out from where he was sniffing around one of the alleys.

* * *

The following minutes were spent in a fair attempt at searching the house's tarry darkness for anything interesting. The bottom floor yielded little, and Tintin reluctantly passed on the upstairs rooms on account of the crumbling steps two thirds of the way up. In any other situation he would risk it, but he didn't feel keen on freezing with a broken bone or two. Just freezing would be enough.

The only fruit of their efforts was a stalwart hook beside the front door, presumably used to hang the previous owner's heavy coat. (The captain wondered why they would be so masochistic as to take their coat off at all.)

But with so few results, it was only a short time before they were crook'd against the foyer wall, with Snowy draped over the bottom steps, and Captain Haddock scrabbling through his pockets.

"I didn't go through the trouble of bringing you along just for you to disappear when you're needed," the captain grumbled.

Tintin leaned over to get a look, but the dim moonlight dripping through the window beyond the staircase didn't lend itself much to detail, and the fur on the captain's coat was far too burly to peer through. "What's that?" he asked.

"My comfort on this abominable adventure." With a final tug, the captain freed from his inside pocket a stubby jade bottle.

"Oh, Captain," Tintin said, with a hint of disappointment.

The captain glanced over to his companion. "Just—just a sip. To warm my frigid bones. You could have some too, if you'd like. There's plenty to go around. I know you don't drink, but needs must and all that..."

But Tintin wasn't listening any longer. His mind was whirling. "Warm your bones... That reminds me of something..." He stared through the captain's bitter battle with the cork.

"Mucilaginous stopper!" Haddock growled.

"Wait, Captain!" Tintin tipped to his knees. "I remember. Alcohol won't help you. It may make you feel warmer, but it lowers your body temperature faster."

"A sip won't hurt anything."

"Please, Captain." Tintin put out his hand for the bottle. "I can't lose you."

There was no fight in him after that. Besides, he never could say no to Tintin.

"Here, laddie. Get rid of it."

Tintin took the bottle and sent it skittering into the depths of the parlor. "I trust you to leave it be."

"Aye."

And then they sat.

* * *

"Boredom is a choice, Archie," his dear mother used to say to her fussy child. He never could agree wholeheartedly, but he took something from her words; _You want to do something? Do something._

So he did. An hour into their involuntary sojourn, Captain Haddock began to hum.

Three minutes later, he started to sing.

"_Come all you young sailormen, listen to me  
I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea,  
and it's..._

"_Windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys;  
When the wind blows we're all together, boys;  
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow!  
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes."_

Tintin sat up straighter against the crack in the wall. The captain continued,

"_Up jumps the eel with his slippery tail,  
Climbs up aloft and reefs the topsail,  
and it's..._

"_Windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys;  
When the wind blows we're all together, boys;  
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow!  
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes._"

To the captain's surprise, Tintin had jumped in to join the chorus. They shared the grins on their roseate faces and Haddock began the next verse.

"_Then up jumps the shark with his nine rows of teeth  
Saying, 'You eat the dough boys, and I'll eat the beef!'  
and it's..._

"_Windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys;  
When the wind blows we're all together, boys;  
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow!  
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes."_

On they sang with Snowy howling to each "blow!". Even the wind whistled along, though it did so like a child who didn't know how, but was persistent and aggressive in its endeavor to learn.

"_Up jumps the codfish with his chuckle-head,  
He runs out up forward and throws out the lead!  
and it's..."_

"_W-windy weather, boys, st-tormy weather, boys  
When the wind blows we're all togeth-th-er, boys  
Blow ye winds wester-"_

"_-ly, blow ye winds, blow!_," the captain continued, alone. "_Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes. Up jumps the whale_..." He caught sight of his companion, and the song faded out. "Sick of the shanty, eh? Can't say I blame you there, but they're the best entertainment a sailor at work gets. 'Course, we're not at work—Are you alright, laddie?"

Tintin smiled shakily to go along with his shivering arms. "J-just a littl-le cold. S-snowy, come here, boy-y." Tintin ignored his stutter and patted his lap until the dog stepped up to rest there.

"A little cold?" Haddock brushed his knuckles over his friend's hand. "My briny beard! You're turning into an icicle!"

"One can't expect much el-l-lse, in this place," Tintin said.

"I'm not quaking in my boots," parried the captain. "And you're going to shake right out of yours."

"I'm fine, Captain."

"Drag me along for your adventures, lad, but do not lie to me." The captain grunted. "Now over you get."

"Pardon?"

He tugged Tintin, Snowy and all, up against his side to sling his arm around his friend's shoulders. He resolutely looked forward, into the parlor, and didn't say another word for a good while.

"Captain," Tintin began, before realizing he couldn't parse any one thought.

The captain cleared his throat.

Tintin's teeth chattered like dice on the roll.

The captain said nothing.

Snowy huffed.

Tintin shuddered hard.

Silence, save the wind's moan.

Along with another wracking jolt, a pained sound tumbled past Tintin's lips.

"Flimsy landlubbers!" the captain shouted. In one scoop, Tintin found himself planted between the captain's outstretched legs, back to chest, with the man's arms settled around his waist.

Haddock's gut writhed when he realized the winged rhythm against his chest was Tintin's heartbeat. Only then did he notice the soft, juttering breaths that spilled from his friend as well.

"Tintin..."

"I b-believe I'm-m dev-veloping hypoth-thermia," Tintin said, all matter-of-fact.

* * *

An hour seemed to pass before another word was uttered. Tintin slumped further into the captain's chest, and Snowy in his, while Haddock's soulful humming, along with the caterwauling wind, provided the atmosphere.

Tintin pulled his knees up to his chin, while his quiff mingled with the captain's scruff. The older man harrumphed.

"Tickles," he muttered, scratching at his beard.

Tintin chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Haddock grumbled.

"It's aw-" Tintin shook, "-awful, sir."

"_Sir?_ And what, exactly, is awful?" Captain Haddock's arms banded tighter, as if it gave Tintin better protection.

Tintin murmured with a solemn sigh, "I don't know."

"Here, Tintin, look at me, lad." The captain pulled his chin away from where it rested on Tintin's head to draw the young man's face around.

His ruddy cheeks weren't so ruddy any longer, instead they shone waxy as a corpse. In fact, the only color in his face appeared to fill from his lips. The captain choked on his fear. He couldn't be sure in the murky light, but he'd have sworn there was a faint blue tinge to the boy's mouth.

"That's it! Discombobulated, pale as a stiff..." The captain was careful as he slipped out from behind his friend and helped him settle against the wall. "Insidious old death can't have you yet, Tintin," he vowed, and spun on his heel for the parlor.

Then strode back, past his friends, to rip the coat hook from the entranceway, and retrace his path to the lounge. He wasn't sure exactly what he planned to do, but he'd been devising something under his humming for some time.

He gave the crate a once-over, turning it on its side so the gape faced away from the desolate room. Grayed against the once grass green carpet and Spring yellow walls it lay, all splinters and mildew.

"That'll do."

A single step further sent something sloshing across the room. Of course the sound gave it away to him, but the captain still followed what he kicked. Near the window he took it up, eyes riveted to the amber liquid behind the jade glass.

"Just a sip..."

"Captain, where are you?" Tintin called.

He never could say no.

"Be there in a minute, lad!" he replied.

Gripping the bottle neck, he lifted it to his lips.

To it, he pressed a chapped kiss.

"Au revoir," he said, and lobbed it out the yawning window.

Trying to brush it off, he spoke aloud again; whatever came first to mind. "Alright, then. That's taken care of. Now. A weight. We need a weight." He gazed back at the dark blotch in the snow. "A weight!" he bellowed.

"Could've been useful after all! Blistering barnacles!" Mindlessly, he stomped through the snow drift in the corner of the room, and there came a soggy scrape. The sharp end of a rock jutted out of the snow. He toed it again and took it up.

"Not a rock at all," he mumbled. Indeed, without the cape of flurry it was nothing more than a dull can, naked of label, and packed with ice and something vaguely russet.

A pleased grin burst onto his face once more. He tromped back to the crate and set out his supplies. First the can, then the hook.

"One more." He glanced around the room. "One more..."

He set off to comb the other corners, or tried, when he was yanked back by the bottom of his coat.

A large shaving of the crate, perhaps the width of a picket, had caught his coat as he passed. He unstuck to press on, but once again an idea sprung to mind.

"He certainly is contagious, that boy," Captain Haddock commented, then set about piecing everything together.

It took a hammer from the can to get it in, but the metal hook eventually sunk into the wall beside the crate. Then, reluctantly, Captain Haddock slipped from the warm hug of his coat and squinted, apprising, at the stake-sized sliver on the crate.

"Snowy!" he beckoned. The pup was slow to leave poor Tintin, but came at the call. He wagged his own jacket-sheathed tail.

The captain knelt to show the sleek inner lining of his coat to the pup. "Grab on, and rip."

Snowy barked.

They each held their sides of the cloth and, while the captain pulled, Snowy went to rend the corner pocket like it got them into this mess.

The thought struck the captain that he wished he could do the same, if only the pocket was the despicable putrescence who left them to waste away in each other's arms.

A fantasy of the tag-team melee he and Tintin could provoke bubbled up, drawing his attention away until Snowy was satisfied with his handiwork and released the coat. He nodded and rambled back to the foyer.

"Good dog," the captain remembered to say. It's what Tintin would want.

He halted. _That is what mourners say_, he thought. _I refuse to mourn for a live man._

Vitality anew, Haddock hooked the hood on the hanger, snared the torn edge on the picket, and weighed the other corner to the crate with the can of ice. Then he made back for home.

There was quite a sight to return to, and it set his blood pumping. A hot surge of pure adorationwashed through his chest.

"Captain," Tintin said calmly, with his shirt half off. "I need your help."

The captain goggled. "With what?" he managed.

"I'm too hot," Tintin answered.

The captain dropped to his knees before Tintin, ran a reverent hand up the other's forearm, and flinched away.

"You're frozen," Haddock accused.

"I'm all but _melting_."

"Thundering typhoons, lad." The captain staunchly ignored all but the fight to still Tintin long enough to get his clothes back in place. "Now don't remove another sock until we find you a warm bed."

"It's stifling in here. Surely there's something to be done about it," Tintin said.

"Right you are. Hurry then-up you go." He helped Tintin to stand, and led him by the hand to the ramshackle fort he had made.

A brief look at Tintin standing was all he had—just as cadaverous as before, but too still, save for his fumbly feet, and not a chatter or clack to him. His hand didn't squeeze back, his brows furrowed, and eyes twitched here and there. Tintin, lost in a helpless body—until it became too much. He blindly set to getting them under the coat, while visions of all that he wished he could magic up to save Tintin scuttled through his mind's eye.

When his thoughts cleared away, the captain discovered them burrowed together so his crossed legs cradled Tintin. Their arms wrapped around the other's back as tight as either was able - which was too loose in the younger's case - and Tintin had buried his face in his friend's neck. His glacial nose brushed the skin there, sending a sweep of shivers down the captain's spine, and somehow the shaking knocked a thought into his mind: He was doing all he knew how. The only thing left was to hold Tintin close, and stew in horror of what could be, and what already was.

* * *

Or so he thought. As he discovered, there was more aid to be given to his friend. It began when Tintin said, slow as syrup,

"Captain." There was more Tintinaity infused in that word than anything from the previous two hours. "I'm drowsy. You have to keep me awake."

As if preparing to help, Snowy left his spot-curved around the captain's hips, between him and the wall-to lay facing his owner from the confines of the crate.

"'Course," Haddock agreed.

But Tintin's hot breath on his face struck gold with another idea.

With the wind, all sepulchral in sound, reaching into each nook of the house—including theirs—even the captain would benefit from what he thought to do. As it was, the gelid air soaked through their clothes; it leeched away what heat their bodies could pull together.

So just as Tintin gusted out another cold-shocked pant, the captain gathered their hands from Tintin's waist, brought them to his lips, and breathed with open mouth. Hot breath seared their dazed skin.

It felt as though enough puffs could thaw them, so Captain Haddock persisted until Tintin palmed his mouth.

"You're going to hyperventilate," his friend warned with a crook to his lip.

"Aye," he gasped. "Felt nice, though, didn't it?"

Snowy whined.

"Come 'ere, you scallywag."

"Come, Snowy." Tintin urged the dog into his lap once more.

And _that_ was all he could do, but he would give more in a hummingbird's heartbeat if the happening arose.

Til then, he clung to Tintin, just as the breath-balmy air of the fort clung to their faces, and turned a blind eye to his rumbling stomach, numb backside, and twinging skull.

All acceptance was a true trial, however, as for every gentle notion, (It settled something warm deep in the captain's chest, the way his arms wrapped so snug around Tintin.) there was something terrible was waiting to upset. (Tintin's heartbeat flickered like a candle under a child's breath. The captain's chest knotted again with that thought's implication: the flame can be blown out.)

Eventually he curled over his friends, wielding his back as though a shield from the oppressive and parasitic thoughts.

"Don't die on me, Tintin," he pled.

"Don't expect me to, Captain."

* * *

Morning woke to a house empty of everything but chaff, and a curious old crate. It ambled through the husk-houses of histories unknown and beyond, with the sun's stretching rays on its heels, eventually coming upon a trio in the tundra. A strong man lurched toward the building in the distance, with a pup around his neck, and another, a younger gentleman, on his back. The boy sported a hale flush high in his cheeks.

"Someday I'll keep you warm, too," morning heard the ginger say.

The other blustered, "If you ever find me in this situation again, you can shoot me dead," though a blush powdered him better than snow.

"Nonsense, Captain," the younger said. His smile helped warm the day.


End file.
